


on the outside

by PandorasBox (AdriannaRhode)



Series: more & more [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Bad Communication, Dom Bang Chan, Dom Seo Changbin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Reader, Hard Domming, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Questionable BSDM, Tags Are Just To Be Safe, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, emotional Negligence, one very very soft dinner scene, soft domming, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaRhode/pseuds/PandorasBox
Summary: “What if I don’t want to play by your rules?”“Then we don’t have to play,” you reply.His dimpled smile is dangerously innocent. “What about my rules?”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin/Reader, Bang Chan/Reader, Seo Changbin/Reader
Series: more & more [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972033
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	on the outside

**Author's Note:**

> This fic...is the result of my resounding new following on Tumblr. I had overwhelming requests for more of this series, and babies, I couldn't resist coming back and giving it to yall. So please enjoy!
> 
> Please heed the warnings in my tags; the content is handled delicately but there are some aspects that might be triggering!

You’re just friends. That’s the agreement. 

Well, it’s not like the four of you actually sat down and wrote out terms of an agreement or anything. It’s not formal. But you and Changbin and Jisung and Chan? You’re just friends. 

Sure, you fell asleep in Chan’s bed in a dogpile of boys, all of them making sure to give you gentle touches and chaste kisses and reassuring you that they had fun. They’re sweet. So sweet. But as the afterglow fades, though you don’t regret a moment of it, you can start to feel the borders of the relationship that you’ve broken into strengthening again. A relationship that you’re not part of, a relationship that already has three committed partners. 

Because sure, you fell asleep together, Chan’s mountain of pillows thrown to the wayside to accommodate so many of you. 

But you woke up alone. 

It’s a big bed, but it was cold when you rolled over and opened your eyes that next morning. The duvet was tucked up around you carefully, and there was a bottle of water on the side table. It was all so gentle and thoughtful that you know they weren’t intending to leave you behind. But still, there was a pit in your stomach that refused to go away. 

You dressed in mismatched clothes – your own shirt from the night before, and a pair of loose sweatpants that could have belonged to any of them – and you walked out of the bedroom to hear music playing in the front of the house, and loud happy voices beyond. 

Jisung was leaning on the counter when you rounded the corner from the bedrooms, and Chan and Changbin bickered over something on the stove. Soft light filtered into the kitchen from the late morning sun, and they were framed in it. Just the three of them. 

They fit together so well. 

They fed you breakfast and talked about music, and homework, and they made sure that you were still comfortable with what had happened last night. You told them that you were. It was the truth, too. 

But still, there was something…off. 

Off, as you agreed to be friends, exchanged contact info beyond school emails, and left their house to take a very silent cab ride home. 

So you’re just friends. They’re your friends now. 

Just friends who greet you on Tuesday morning with blushing cheeks and awkward smiles. Friends who know what you look like naked. 

Your friend Changbin, who sits in front of you with his broad shoulders that you can picture perfectly, warm muscle and smooth skin under your hands.

Your friend Jisung, whose moans still ring in your head, unabashed and loud. 

And your friend Chan, who texts you on a Wednesday, almost two whole weeks after your hookup, and asks if you have his black sweatpants. 

You do. Because of course you do, you wore those comfy-ass sweats home, and just carried your own shorts in your arms. He asks if you want to come over and give them back, but that strange pit of discomfort rears right back up at the idea of going back to their house. 

So you offer to have him come to yours to get them, instead.

\---------------

“Hey,” Chan smiles at you, as you open your apartment door. 

You’re shocked to feel your heart do a little backflip as you look him over. He’s dressed in a hoodie and a black cap, casting his face into a bit of shadow. It suits him. 

In the weeks since you’ve been alone with him, it really feels like that old distance has settled back into place. Him, popular and cool and always busy, with his two equally popular and cool boyfriends. And you, quiet and unassuming and just…you. But he looks at you with real warmth, and you wonder if you yourself have been too dismissive toward them. Maybe all of the distance is just in your head. 

“How’ve you been?” Chan asks, slinging off thes backpack on his shoulder as you invite him inside. 

“You’ve seen me Tuesdays and Thursdays, you know how I’ve been,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

“That doesn’t count, that’s class.” 

“I’ve been okay,” you answer. 

You feel almost self-conscious about your apartment, now that Chan’s inside. It’s so small and normal compared to his nice neat house with all of its character. Your roommates aren’t home, so you linger in the living room, as Chan takes in the décor and the old, shared furniture. Just his presence is nice, even though you’re fighting back your nerves. You’d almost forgotten that he’s here for a reason, when he spots the sweatpants laying on the back of the couch and picks them up. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, folding up the garment into a little square and unzipping his pack to stuff them inside. 

As he’s wrestling with the pants, something small falls out of the front pocket of his backpack and thumps lightly onto the floor. You lean down and pick it up, not sure what exactly it is until you see the pale pink label. 

It’s a tiny tube of lip balm. Peach flavored. 

“Oh, so this is your secret weapon,” you say. 

Chan looks up at you, confused, and you wiggle the lip balm at him. His ears flame red under his baseball cap, which delights you. 

“You liked the flavor that much?” he asks. 

“I dunno, peach, you tell me,” you tease. 

You hand the tube back to him, and he tucks it back into its pocket. He’s so cute and embarrassed, even now, after you’ve already seen him at his most vulnerable.

You feel like it’s a bad idea, but you can’t help yourself as you add, “Or maybe it wasn’t about the flavor, and I just really liked kissing you.” 

Chan meets your eye, something resolute behind his gaze. 

“You can kiss me again, you know,” he says. 

You…don’t know what to say. It’s so silent that you worry he’s going to think that he’s offended you or something. He hasn’t. You just…

“Is that…okay?” you ask stupidly. 

“Okay?” he echoes, looking like he doesn’t understand. 

“Can I…without Jisung and Changbin…” you falter, not quite sure how to ask him the question that’s on your mind. 

Is it okay to mess around with only one partner in the three-person relationship that welcomed you in all together? Is that dishonest? Is it cheating if the other two aren’t around? You don’t want to be part of cheating, don’t want to hurt two people who you genuinely like. You have no idea what constitutes proper conduct, in a situation like this. 

But Chan just laughs. “Jeez, yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” 

Your face must still look confused, or concerned, or something, because Chan regards you more softly. 

“If we had to get all three of us in the same room every time we wanted to mess around, we’d barely do anything,” he says, “Jisung doesn’t live with us and ‘Bin and I work opposite hours. Any of us are allowed to do what we want.” 

You sigh, “But I’m not…”

“The boys know you, and they like you. They know I’m here. We’re not sneaking around on them or anything. It’s okay.”

But you still need to know, beyond all doubt. 

“So it’s okay if I-”

“It’s okay,” Chan interrupts, “Noona. It’s fine.” 

It’s him calling you noona in that voice, with that earnest look in his eyes, that finally breaks you. You surge forward to kiss him, meeting his lips with an enthusiasm that should probably embarrass you. God, he’s as good as you remember. It’s almost a pity that you chose to play with him so little last time, sentencing him to his little seat out of the way, to watch but not touch. 

There’s so much more fun you could have with him, you think, and he seems to agree.

“Noona,” Chan says between kisses, barely more than a breath, as you crowd him against your living room wall.

The angle isn’t great, since the bill of his cap juts out several inches from his face. You take a second to whip off the hat, revealing messy, half-flattened curly hair. It’s a good look on him, kind of sleepy and domestic. 

“Yes?” you reply. 

“You weren’t very nice to me, last time.” 

His words are matter-of-fact and firm, and it takes you aback. He doesn’t seem affected at all by what you’re doing. 

“Excuse me?” you say, pulling back to really take him in.

His plush lips are bitten-red, and his messy hair makes him look extra disheveled, but his expression is alert and playful. This isn’t the face of the same gentle, whiny sub that you know.

“I said, you were really mean last time. Making me sit there and watch while you fucked MY boyfriends,” Chan says casually. 

You bristle a little, not exactly sure what he’s getting at. 

“If you don’t like how I do things, you can just leave. No one says we have to fuck tonight,” you say. “Just like I said before, I can’t make you play by my rules, peach. You have to want to do it.” 

That line worked so well on him last time, but tonight, Chan just laughs. “What if I don’t want to play by your rules?” 

“Then we don’t have to play,” you reply. 

His dimpled smile is dangerously innocent. “What about my rules?” 

“Who says you get to make rules?” you ask, getting annoyed. 

Chan doesn’t answer you. He just slips away from the wall, right out of your arms, and you let him. You’re too surprised to do anything but watch as he picks up his hat from the floor and jams it into his backpack. 

You really don’t understand. He doesn’t seem angry. On the contrary, he seems really amused, very satisfied with himself. You don’t think he’s trying to leave, either. His deep calm doesn’t allow you to read him, so you can’t exactly get an upper hand.

He glances at you. “Which one is your room?” 

You barely stop your jaw from dropping right open. What kind of presumptuous, egotistical bullshit is he trying to pull?!

But…

Your curiosity is bubbling. You have no earthly idea what he’s doing, what he’s planning. His demeanor is so different from what you’ve seen, closer to the cocky coed who tried to pick you up at a house party than to the boy begging you for release in his boyfriend’s bed. You want to see more.

So you say, “First door on the left.” 

He nods, just once, and heads off that way. 

“Hold on, hold on,” you sputter, “What – what are you doing?!” 

You follow, struck by exactly how comfortable and bold he’s being. Chan lets himself into your bedroom, barely pausing to glance around as he drops his pack on the floor and turns to face you, where you linger in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” you repeat. 

He doesn’t answer, again, his hand going to the back pocket of his jeans like he’s checking something there, tucked under the hem of his hoodie. He’s annoying you – and frustratingly, simultaneously arousing you – enough that you know SOMETHING will be happening between you, regardless of who starts it. 

So you shut and lock your bedroom door, and when you’ve let go of the doorknob and turned back, he meets your eye again.

“I just think that you need to know what it’s like to be told ‘no,’” Chan says innocently. 

“And you’re gonna be the one to do it, huh?” you ask. 

“I think so,” Chan agrees. 

“Oh, peach,” you step forward into his personal space, and cup his face in your hands, the way you’ve done before to force him to look at you directly, “Do you really think you can pull this off?” 

You can see Chan’s hand moving in your peripheral vison, but you think nothing of it. Until. 

Until he’s fastened a thick leather cuff onto your right wrist. You look at the cuff in shock, smooth and black and very obviously something that he brought with him to your house, and then you look back at his face. He’s trying not to laugh. 

“What is this?” you ask sharply, jerking your hand up so that the second cuff dangles off your arm. 

“Well,” Chan says, evenly, “It’s a challenge.” 

“A challenge,” you repeat, unimpressed. 

“Sure. It takes a lot to be in charge all the time, but it takes even more to hand over the reins to someone else,” says Chan. 

Frustration that borders on rage rushes through you, just one quick hot flash of it. If he doesn’t like giving up control to you, he can find someone else! He can’t just force you to switch roles. But that’s exactly what he seems determined to do.

You reach up with your free hand and twist your fingers into the soft curly hair at the back of Chan’s head, and tug. Hard. He arches into it easily, sighing, seeming to enjoy the sharp pain for a moment. 

But his compliance doesn’t last long. 

He finally flexes the strength that you always suspected he had, grabbing your second hand from behind him and gathering it up with the first. He turns you around effortlessly, which makes your inner dom scream in protest. But a smaller, darker part of your mind perks up, curious. What’s he going to do next?

Chan snaps on the second cuff, securing your arms together behind your back. 

“What-” you can barely get the words out through the haze of arousalconfusionexcitement, “What – why are you-”

“See, I was telling Binnie and Jisungie how much I wish I could have played with you more, like they got to,” Chan says, casual, as if you’re having a totally normal conversation. “And Jisung had a really great suggestion for me.” 

“Oh? And what was that?” you ask sarcastically. 

Chan steers you by the cuffs toward your own bed, and guides you to sit down on the edge of the mattress. Only when he’s nudged your legs apart and settled between them, does he answer. 

“To show you exactly how I felt, not being able to touch you,” he says sweetly. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

As interested as you are in this, you can’t help that nagging feeling of unease in the back of your mind. 

You don’t mind the cuffs. You don’t mind the way he’s talking to you. It’s just…this is someone’s boyfriend, here in front of you, looking like he’s two seconds away from devouring you. Two someones’ boyfriend. The voice that comes out of your mouth when you speak is uncharacteristically small and hesitant, and it shocks you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask. 

Chan nods. “I can call the boys, if you really don’t believe me. They’ll tell you.” 

You consider what he’s offering. It would sort of help, to hear directly from Jisung and Changbin that you’re allowed to do this without them. But bringing them into the bedroom, even digitally, would just turn this into another group hookup, wouldn’t it? 

What if, this time, you want it to be just you and Chan? 

The thought almost makes you sick. Of course, you can have him for tonight, for however long this thing that you’re doing together lasts. But he’s not yours. Jisung isn’t. Changbin isn’t. Chan isn’t. 

“No, no, I just…” you pause, collect yourself, let some of your usual confidence wash away that strange possessive streak, “I just don’t think you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, no. I know,” Chan replies. 

Without another word, he pushes you backward gently so that you have to catch yourself on your elbows, trapping your cuffed hands uncomfortably beneath your body. You right yourself quickly, so that you can look at Chan. He’s watching you carefully.

“Color?” he asks. 

“What?!” You’re almost too surprised to reply. 

“Color.” 

“Green,” you sputter, “But what the fuck, man-”

“Great,” Chan interrupts with a grin. 

He reaches for the band of your comfy lounge shorts, and as you huff out another “green!” even as you glare daggers at him, Chan pulls both the shorts and your panties down your legs in one go. You yelp, louder than you intended, at the feeling of being suddenly exposed to him like this. 

“If you think I’m gonna let all this fuckin’ attitude slide, you are VERY mistaken,” you hiss, letting all of your embarrassment leak into your voice and disguising it as anger. 

But as you’re saying it, you realize exactly how wet you are. Humiliatingly, impossibly turned on. You can feel your arousal starting to inch out to your inner thighs. And Chan notices it too, because he looks almost impressed as he takes you in, cuffed and trembling and half-naked. 

“This is kinda fun,” he says mildly.

“I swear, Chan, you’re not gonna be able to sit for a WEEK after-”

“Hush,” Chan interrupts, “This is about what I want.” 

You humor him, “And what do you want?”

“To play with you,” he replies, cheerful. “But guess what?” 

“What?” 

He smiles, sneaky and power-hungry. “No touching.”

He’s throwing your own words right back at you. 

“No shit, I can’t touch,” you spit, tugging at your arms behind your back and making the cuffs dig more sharply into your skin. 

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t just listen to me with no incentive,” Chan explains, as he drops to his knees between your legs, “So I needed some help. If you weren’t so stubborn, we could just have fun without all this.” 

You notice hazily exactly how close he’s gotten to your center. His hands are on your thighs, holding your legs open for him, and he’s settling back on his heels, face level with your pussy. If you had use of your hands, you would be shoving him into you, riding his face and pulling his hair until he remembered his place. But you can’t do that. 

You can’t do anything on your own volition right now, and as much as it annoys you, it’s also making you desperately horny. 

“I think you forget that with me and the boys, we don’t have set roles,” he says, “Nobody always doms or always subs. Sometimes we don’t dom or sub at all.” 

Of course, you think to yourself. Duh. Nobody is on full form all the time, especially not with multiple partners. He needs to get to the point and stop fucking teasing you.

He seems to read the internal struggle on your face, and grins as he continues, “As much as I love subbing, that’s not the only thing I can do.” 

“So?” you ask. 

“So, I know exactly how to drive you crazy.” 

There’s no time for a snarky remark back at him, because he dives in and starts eating you out like he’s being paid to do it, pressing a long kiss to your clit before moving down to pull long, slow strokes across your folds with his tongue.

“Jesus, Chan!” you gasp, arching into the pressure of his mouth. 

He hums against you in response. Your legs twitch in his hold, and your hips cant upward on their own volition as he licks into you hard, sending white-hot bolts of pleasure through you. You screw your eyes shut and brace yourself. You’re not going to let him drag you over the edge too quickly, even though you can already feel the prickling beginnings of an orgasm. 

“Come on, now,” Chan breathes, pulling off you to laugh gently at your desperation, “Be good.” 

He moves one hand up your body to hold you down, pressing your hips to the mattress and keeping them there, giving himself free access to torture you like this. You’re fighting to keep your head clear, to not make any sounds. 

You can’t let him know exactly how well he’s doing. He can’t know how much it affects you to be helpless, bound, while he does as he pleases. That small piece of your consciousness that woke up earlier is still there, offering you thoughts that feel so wrong, and yet…so fitting. 

Tell him it’s good. Ask him for more. Beg him for more. 

Beg.

You don’t beg. Not you. 

Is this…submission?

You shudder, throwing your head back, equally affected by Chan’s continued assault on your poor nerves, his tongue flat against your clit, and by this new part of yourself that’s being laid bare. Your orgasm is rising powerfully, pleasure so right that you can barely stand it. 

But unluckily for you, Chan’s made you cum before, and he’s obviously a quick learner who already knows your tells. Right as you’re about to break, about to gasp his name and let go, he stops. 

You whine. Loud, and long, and so pitiful that you barely recognize yourself.

“Why??” you moan, drawing your head back up from the mattress to look at him. 

Chan is sitting back again, and your eyes follow him as he runs the back of hand over his mouth cleaning your arousal off his face. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something, there?” he asks, all faux-ignorance. 

You grit out, “I was about to-”

“Aw,” he interrupts, “You were gonna cum. So sorry. Color?” 

You pause. You know what the answer is, an easy green, but you so hate how he’s making you relinquish control. He raises an eyebrow at your hesitation, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. His gaze is heavy. 

“If you can’t tell me, we’ll stop,” he says, but you shake your head. 

“Green.”

“Green?”

“Green,” you repeat. 

There’s an odd swooping sensation in your gut and you realize that it’s nervousness, but not any kind of nervousness you’ve felt before. It’s more like…anticipation. A passive curiosity. It’s like you want more, but you’re not going to take it. You’re going to wait and see if it comes. 

What’s happening to you?

“Will you be offended if I put on a condom?” Chan asks you thoughtfully. “I know we went raw before but I really don’t feel like making a mess.” 

Offended? Does he really think you’re that easy to piss off?

“Of course I won’t, that’s fine,” you say. 

“Nice.” 

Chan gets to his feet and strips out of his jeans and underwear carelessly. His cock is just as pretty as you remember, thick and slightly curved, and you’re aching to feel him in you again. He pulls a condom packet out of the pocket of his discarded jeans. You pull yourself back up to a sitting position, rolling your shoulders back as best you can to relieve some of the tension in them, watching as Chan rolls on the condom and returns to the bed. 

And then you can’t watch much of anything, because Chan flips you over onto your fucking face. He pulls your hips back, and up, until you’re balancing yourself on your breastbone and your knees, arms still trapped behind your back, cheek pressed into the bed. 

“Excuse me?” you groan, “What the fuck was that?” 

“I just thought you’d look pretty this way,” he says lightly, “And I was right. Why, don’t you like it?” 

You do like it. You really, really like that he can just manhandle you like this. But you don’t say so. Even though that tiny voice you’ve begun to recognize as your previously unfounded submissive side is telling you to just say what he wants to hear, you resist.

“Coulda warned me first,” you mutter.

“That’s no fun.” 

You’re hyperaware of Chan getting into place behind you, grabbing your hips indulgently and moving forward to rub his cock through the mess of wetness between your holds. You stifle a moan into your sheets. 

“Is there something you want?” Chan asks, patronizing. 

“No,” you reply stubbornly.

“Nothing?”

“No.” 

“I think…” he pauses, lets his length drag over your opening, your clit, and you clench around nothing, “I think you want me to stuff you full, fuck you open, real nice.” 

“Of course I fucking do!” you explode, “You have me here, don’t you?!” 

“True,” he allows. 

“Then fuck, me, asshole!” 

“Ask nicely,” Chan says, parroting your own favorite phrase back at you. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Okay,” he says, and you feel his warmth pull away as if he’s going to leave entirely.

You yelp out a, “No!” 

“Then ask,” he says. 

You hesitate. It feels like a precipice, almost, like taking a plunge, like you’re admitting your own weakness to him. Asking means letting your guard down and putting your pleasure in his hands. You’re scared to do it. 

He lines himself up, and just presses his cock against your entrance, letting you feel the blunt head of him, ready to give you what you need in your bones. And you can’t hold back.

It’s just one word, just barely gasped. You don’t even know if he hears it. 

“Please.”

There’s a moment of silence. A tiny, gleeful laugh from Chan, and then he’s pushing into you, bottoming out fast, and the plunge is like a shot of liquid pleasure lighting you up. He lingers for a moment like that, giving you time to adjust, and you can’t hold your tongue.

“What, are you afraid I’m gonna break?” you snap. 

It turns out that that’s the wrong thing to say, because Chan just draws out without a word and slams back in with enough force that your knees threaten to slip out from under you. He definitely takes your words to heart. He’s fucking you hard, jackhammer-fast, chasing his own high with abandon. 

It’s just on the edge of too much, no time to catch your breath. He grabs hold of the chain of your cuffs, and uses it as leverage to pull you back against him. It hurts, as your shoulder twist back, but the pain is delicious alongside the tingling pleasure of him driving into you, never keeping you empty for long. You kind of can’t believe this is Chan, the same Chan that you know, fucking every coherent thought out of your head. 

“Chan,” you gasp, unable to say much else. 

He rolls his hips into you harder, as if answering you that way. “Does it feel good, baby?” 

Baby. That’s the first affectionate name he’s ever called you. Not noona, or just your name. But a pet name. 

You can’t bring yourself to hide the way it makes you grind back against him. You can’t hide how much you like it. He doesn’t even seem to notice your internal plight, anyway, as he just meets you inch for inch. You just whimper, that orgasm beginning to build again. This time, you’re determined to get there. 

“Not – ah,” you cry, “Not enough to make me cum, Channie…”

“Oh, I know,” Chan says, thrusting into you even harder, grinding in deep for a second, “But it’s plenty for me.” 

You’re stupefied for a moment, trying to figure out if he means what you think he means, but he throws you another curveball. 

“You could just admit that – shit – that you’re enjoying yourself,” Chan says, tone low, like speaking too loudly will break the moment you’re having. “You could admit that even if you’re not in charge and acting all high and mighty, you just like being here with me.”

It’s so tender, you swear your heart stops. Sure, he’s still teasing you, but what he’s implying…it’s intimate. It’s beyond playing dominant with three near-strangers at the end of a tipsy night. 

You don’t have much time to think about it, though.

“Oh, shit,” Chan pants, “(Y/N), Jesus, so good – cumming – ”

Chan bends over you and moans into the curve of your spine as he empties himself into the condom. You’re absolutely throbbing around him, desperate for you own release. At this point, you’ll do anything, say anything, if he’ll just-

Suddenly, your arms are free, falling to your sides as one cuff is released, and you immediately claw at the sheets with one hand as the other hand snakes down under your body, between your legs, right to the place where Chan is still buried in you to the hilt. 

You’re just beginning to ghost the first circle over your clit when Chan pulls all the way out, and away from you. 

“No!” you positively screech, muffling the sound into the bed. 

“Oh, stop,” Chan admonishes. “I just remembered that I have a very important appointment to keep.” 

“An appointment?” 

Chan nods, just barely fighting back a smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching up with the effort of it. “Very important. Can’t skip it.”

He’s discarding the used condom and slipping back into his clothes before you can utter anything else. You roll over, with much effort, craning your neck to look at Chan desperately as he zips his jeans and gathers up his backpack.

“So you’re just leaving me here like this?!” you ask. 

He looks at you calmly, taking you in. You’re sure that you’re an absolute mess, cuffs hanging from one arm, hair like you’ve been in a hurricane, half-naked with just your rumpled shirt on top, sex-stupid and shaking from your ruined orgasms. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, “Yeah, I am.” 

“No!” you insist. 

“Color?” he asks, tilting his head as he does, like a puppy regarding something interesting. 

“Fucking green, if you’d just get back here and-”

“Then yeah,” he interrupts, with finality. 

“What?!” 

Chan slings his backpack over his shoulder and fixes his cap onto his head.

“Not easy, is it?” he asks, “Being left out to dry after someone else has had their fun?” 

“Chan!” 

“Don’t worry, you’re free, you can finish yourself up,” he says casually. 

Your temper is rising. “I can’t fucking believe-”

“Or, if you’re patient, maybe someone else wants to pick up where I left off,” Chan shrugs, “You never know.” 

And with that, Chan gives you a big wink and a little wave, and walks right out of your bedroom. You just lay there on your bed, catching your breath. You can hear him putting on his shoes, and then the gentle opening and closing of your front door. 

He’s gone. 

He fucking left you like this. 

It’s revenge, you realize, blood running hot. Revenge for what you did to him the other night. Revenge for how you played him and his boyfriends like instruments, how you set them up and knocked them down exactly how they wanted. Revenge for doing nothing wrong. A taste of your own medicine. 

But as much as you want to claim that it’s bitter…you’re finding it honey-sweet. That tiny submissive voice has spread its message all over your body, making your limbs heavy and your mind cloudy and all you want is for someone – anyone – to come and finish what Chan started. 

You hear a buzzing sound, far off, and realize that it’s your phone. You clamber off the bed on shaky knees and wander to find the thing where it sits, on your dresser. The call coming in has a stupid picture and a caller ID with emojis. 

Changbin. 

You answer it, cuff knocking annoyingly around as you bring the phone up to your face. “Hello?” 

“You’re alive,” comes Changbin’s voice, amused even through the line. 

“No thanks to your fucking boyfriend,” you spit. 

“Whoa, relax,” Changbin says, and you realize that his voice is far from the receiver, like you’re on speakerphone. 

“Are you…driving?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Chan said you might need some help, and I just got off work,” Changbin replies. 

You frown, even though he can’t see you. “So he did actually tell you he was coming over.” 

“’Course he did. You guys have fun?” 

“He’s the worst,” you complain.

“Yeah, sometimes he is. I like that about him, though. Kinda cool and sexy.”

“’Bin,” you whine, “Please. I just…I just…” 

“Yeah,” he says again, as if he’s deciding, “What’s your address?” 

\---------------

Chan left you there, half-naked and unsatiated, a livewire, floating slowly but surely into what might actually be subspace, for the first time that you can recall. 

And now, it’s Changbin who brings you back down to earth. 

The cuffs are still on, looped through your headboard, keeping your arms stretched above your head as you sprawl on your back, spine arching and toes curling. Your shirt is gone, baring you completely to your partner. 

He’s speaking to you, and it’s like his voice is the only think tethering you firmly to the world. He’s talking about you, “pretty, sexy, so good, so so good,” and about Jisung, and about Chan, kind and gentle words of praise about all of you. Your names fit together, flow together with ease, uttered all with equal affection. 

You wonder if that’s how your names live in his mind: together. Chan, Jisung, Changbin…and you? 

“You still with me?” Changbin’s voice breaks through the fog, clearing your thoughts a bit, and you refocus your gaze on him.

He’s on top of you, face to face with you, bodies pressed close together as he fucks into you with deep strokes. He’d forgone the condom that Chan insisted on, and you can feel him, hot and throbbing and perfect, as he opens you up for him. Changbin smiles at you softly, and you just look dumbly back up at him. 

“Channie did a number on you, didn’t he?” Changbin asks, quietly amused. 

You don’t know what to say. Your mind is pleasantly fuzzy, even as you puzzle over exactly what’s happening emotionally, what things are sitting beneath the surface of this. Looking at Changbin, having him so close after Chan kept you at such a distance…you don’t even know where to begin with unpacking the feelings blooming in your chest.

It’s not like you’re angry with Chan. You completely understand the game he was playing. It was a hell of a risk that he took, betting on you being strong enough to not fall to pieces after he left. But still, you understand his intentions intimately, since you’re a mostly-dom who plays similar mind games all the time. If it was only that, only the bedroom antics, you wouldn’t be confused at all. 

But Chan wound you up, strung you out…and sent in one of his boyfriends to follow up and take care of you on your way down. They’re sharing you, catering to you in tandem.

It almost seems like…they like you. Really like you. 

“You’re a good dom,” Changbin says. 

He pauses, leans in, kisses you breathless, and pulls back. 

“You’re a good dom,” he repeats, “But you should also know that it’s okay to not be so strict about control all the time. Sometimes you need to let go, yknow?” 

You’re not quite sure about that, about giving up the carefully-built control that you cling to both inside and outside the bedroom. You like being in control. You like knowing what’s coming. You like knowing that nothing can surprise you, nothing can take advantage of you. 

But…you want to let go, even if it’s just this little bit. You still haven’t cum. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

It’s the first time you’ve spoken other than words of consent, since he let himself in the front door that Chan left unlocked, and found you having an angry, horny glass of water. 

“Yes?” he answers. 

“Make me cum.” 

You don’t beg. That’s not begging. 

Right? 

“You know the magic word,” he says gently. 

You shake your head, “Look, just-”

“You’ll feel better if you’re open with me,” Changbin encourages you, “Come on. Baby steps. Just the magic word.”

Fuck. You can barely string three words together. Your whole world is reduced to this moment, to the mounting sensation between your legs that’s just not quite enough. You need it. You need him.

“Please, Changbin!” you’re on the edge of sobbing, you need it so bad. “Please!” 

“That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl. So good for us.” 

Us? 

He said us.

You’re cumming before you even realize it, Changbin’s fingers firm on your clit and his cock still pistoning into you. The half-scream that leaves your mouth is captured in a kiss, as Changbin holds you close and fucks you through your peak. 

The tremors have almost left your limbs, leaving your shivery and overstimulated, as Changbin presses his face into the crook of your neck and cums, fucking his release into you and murmuring your name against your skin. 

It takes a moment for both of you to come down. 

Changbin trails gentle kisses over your collarbone, up to your cheek, and he looks you full in the face again. His expression falls ever so slightly, and you begin to panic, wondering what’s wrong. He reaches up and wipes his finger ever so gently under your eye, and shows it to you. 

Tears. 

You didn’t even know you’d begun to cry. It’s not like you’re sobbing, but a few stray tears have snuck onto your cheeks, frustration and arousal and fear come to fruition. 

“Good tears, right?” Changbin asks, half-serious and half-teasing, as he reaches up and undoes the release of your cuffs one after the other. 

“I think so,” you answer, truthfully not quite knowing. 

“As long as I didn’t hurt you or anything,” he says wryly. 

“No, no,” you assure him, “You didn’t.” 

“Good.” 

Changbin pulls out, and eases himself off of you. You sit up and move your arms, rotate your wrists to get the blood moving. Sheepishly, you wipe your eyes, too. Changbin leans in and takes your hands, looking over your wrists to make sure there’s no damage beyond the redness that’s already starting to fade. 

“’M okay,” you say, “It was just scary.” 

“What part?” Changbin grins sidelong at you, as he deems your arms okay and lets you go. 

“Being so…” you gesture vaguely. 

“So?” he prompts.

“Vulnerable,” you mutter. 

“Well, I think you did a good job, even after Chan put you through the wringer.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to stand up. “I can’t believe him. What if I had awful sub drop after he just bailed like that?” 

“He’s a pretty good judge of that stuff, believe it or not,” Changbin says, “I bet he was pretty confident you could handle it. Plus, that’s why he sent me. Wanted to make you wait for it but not actually make you come down alone.” 

“I wanna shower,” you say meditatively. 

“’Kay. I’ll wait for you,” Changbin says. 

“You could join me,” you suggest, but Changbin shakes his head firmly. 

“I want to give you your space,” he says. “I know you said you’re okay, but distance can sometimes make it clearer how you feel. Unless you think you’d need me there…?” 

You take a second and check in with yourself, something that you don’t do nearly often enough after a scene. No, you don’t think you need it. If he came into the shower with you, it would probably just lead to another round. So you send him a small smile, and peek out the door to make sure that nobody has come home, so you can run across the hall and wash up. 

Standing under the hot water, rinsing down your sore muscles, you worry that thoughts about Chan are going to start welling up. That maybe he really did hurt your feelings by leaving, that maybe you’re going to resent him for his idea of payback. 

But really, the only thing active thought that pops into your head is about where the hell Jisung has been. You miss his loud mouth and his easy teasing. It would have broken the tension tonight, kept you calmer. 

You wonder if you’re repressing this. 

You wonder if the way that Chan had to tease and force and pull your submission out of you is normal for new subs. You’ve never had to do that to a sub before, but to be fair, you’ve never tried to dom another strong dom. 

You wonder how you’re going to be able to look at him in class tomorrow.

It’s a long, slow shower.

When the water begins to run cold, you admit defeat. You wrap up in your towel, still dripping and ready to dash back to your room for a change of clothes. But Changbin has beaten you to the punch. He’s waiting outside the bathroom door with a pair of pajama pants stolen from the floor of your room, and his own t-shirt that was layered under his hoodie.

“Here,” he says, handing you both garments. “You didn’t bring any clothes in there with you.”

You hesitate, wrapping your towel tighter around your body. “Isn’t that, like, kind of…intimate?” 

“I mean, I was just inside you, but suit yourself,” Changbin teases. 

He has a point, but you still think there’s something significantly different about wearing his clothes. Just look at what happened tonight as a result of you wearing Chan’s sweats home, after the last time. 

“I just don’t want to step over any lines,” you say. 

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” says Changbin. 

What are you so afraid of? 

You sigh. You put on the t-shirt. It doesn’t feel nearly as strange as you thought it would. Rather, it just feels kind of nice, like Changbin is taking care of you, still. He is, of course. But it just feels more like it. 

An apology for your weird behavior is on the tip of your tongue, when your front door swings open again. You glance toward the entry in mild confusion, hoping to God it’s not your roommates coming home. They’d told you that they had study group until late, and it’s really only like 8pm, but it would be painfully on-brand for them to come in and see you in the aftermath of all this. 

A boy’s voice rings out from the hallway, “Okay, where’s my girl?!” 

Jisung? 

“Shut up, it’s nighttime and you don’t even live here,” a second voice chastises him, “You’re gonna get her a noise complaint.” 

Chan. 

So, he’s back. And he brought Jisung. No point in dragging this out, is there? You come out into the living room, feeling for all the world like some kind of perverse debutante. 

“There she is!” Jisung coos, and you don’t even stop to be annoyed at him, because the sight that meets you is so strange.

Chan hasn’t just brought Jisung. He’s brought a whole stock kitchen. Between them they’re carrying several big reusable shopping bags stuffed full of food, produce and packets and sauce containers that clink together. You stare, dumbfounded, as Jisung and Chan set their armloads of bags down in your kitchen. 

“What’s all this?” you ask.

“We’re gonna make dinner, and you’re just gonna chill,” Jisung instructs. 

You glance among the three of them. “You really don’t have to-”

“C’mon, it’s fine,” says Jisung. “We planned a menu and everything.”

You can’t find it in you to argue. That shivery, fuzzy feeling hasn’t completely gone away yet, and you’re content to let the boys take care of the food, just this once. They shouldn’t feel compelled to do things like this for you, though. They don’t need to. 

Shopping bags rustle and cabinets open as you sit yourself down on the couch with your phone. You can just look at some memes and try to will away the last of your nerves. It’s fine.

\---------------

“Shh! She’s right there!”

“I don’t care, hyung-” 

You jolt awake at the harsh sound of two voices arguing. You’re laying across your living room couch; you don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have, because you’re covered in a throw blanket and your phone is on the floor rather than in your hand. The digital clock on your television cable box blinks at you; you’ve only been out for about fifteen minutes. 

“You shouldn’t have left,” comes Jisung’s voice, back from the direction of the kitchen. 

“I knew what I was doing,” Chan defends. 

“Did you?” Jisung replies, “Or were you so focused on getting back at her that you just stuck to the first dick move that came to mind?” 

“She’s tough, she can handle it. I didn’t do anything worse to her than she’s done to me.” 

Jisung’s tone sharpens even more. “You’re used to that, though, hyung! You get punishments, you sub all the time, you know what it’s like! She’s never, ever had someone treat her like that before!” 

“But it turned out okay, right?” Changbin pipes up. “I mean, she’s okay, so-”

“But what if she HADN’T been okay?” Jisung argues, “Am I the only one who sees that you were an absolute asshole tonight, Chan?” 

Just Chan. No honorific, no nickname. You draw deeper under your blanket, not daring to move. You don’t want them to know you’re listening. 

“You weren’t an asshole,” Changbin placates. 

“You kinda were!” Jisung argues. 

“No,” Changbin says, “No. You just…maybe could have gone a little easier…” 

Chan’s tone is dark, and it startles you. “You two done fucking ganging up on me? Jisung, this was YOUR idea.” 

“I said to use the cuffs and edge her for a while, not to bust a nut and then bail!” Jisung protests. 

One of your kitchen chairs scuffs against the floor, like someone is pushing it back hard to stand up, and your adrenaline spikes. You’ve heard enough, this is enough. 

“Guys?” you call, putting on your best groggy, sleep-heavy voice. 

“(Y/N)?” Changbin replies. 

“Did I fall asleep?” you ask, sitting up to peer over the back of the couch at them. 

Chan is standing up, kitchen chair abandoned behind him. Jisung sits across from him, and Changbin is standing at the counter, holding onto the tile with one white-knuckled hand. You don’t know exactly how far they would have gone, but you don’t want to find out. 

“You knocked out,” Changbin confirms. “We didn’t want to bother you so we just let you nap.”

“Come here, doll,” Jisung says, holding his arms open. “I feel so neglected. I missed all the fun cuz of fuckin’ pre-calc.” 

He’s got a stupid grin on his face, but you’re not going to turn down a chance to make sure the argument ends here. You wrap the blanket around you like a cape, and go into the kitchen. It smells like food – curry, maybe, or some kind of stew. A hot meal. There’s rice cooking and a vegetable side dish frying on the back burner of the stove, and it’s painfully homey. 

You approach the table with trepidation, looking at Chan evenly as he just stands there. Jisung pats his lap, and you’re too tired and on edge to complain. You settle yourself on his lap, straddling him on his chair, draping yourself over his front like a koala. 

“I didn’t know you were such a cuddler!” Jisung says, delight evident in his voice, as you bury your face in his shoulder. 

“I’m not,” you pout. 

Jisung’s hands rub down your spine, over the blanket cape. “Sure.” 

“Pretty much everyone likes cuddles, at one point or another,” says Changbin. 

“Yeah, so lay off,” you murmur. 

Jisung laughs, and pulls you even more firmly against himself. You wonder why he’s doing this. He did miss all the sex, but like, if that really bothered him then he could just ask you for another round. But he seems content to have you just like this, just holding you while the other two finish up the meal. 

“Jisungie, how long has the bokkeum been on?” Chan asks, his voice completely normal, like nothing even happened at all. 

“Like six minutes?” Jisung replies, just as calmly. 

“Then it’s done.” 

They’re obviously playing it cool, assuming that you were still asleep for their burgeoning fight. Jisung is tracing patterns on your back, slow and comforting, like you’d do to a small child after a scare. You wonder if you need comforting. Jisung certainly thinks you need it. 

You’re not sure about a lot of things, now. But you feel better like this, with Jisung holding you, and Chan and Changbin close by. Even if things are uncertain, you feel better with them. 

\---------------

You can’t sleep. 

It’s the wee hours of the morning. The boys have been gone for hours. They cleaned up the kitchen from your shared meal, took turns giving you hugs and cheek kisses (and in Jisung’s case, a sharp smack on the ass) and called it a night. 

Your roommates had come back about when they promised, just after midnight. They hadn’t noticed anything amiss, even though you felt as though you were wearing a sign around your neck. “Newly-Awoken Switch. Please Tease.” 

Now, you’re tucked up in your bed, covers up to your chin, and you just can’t fall asleep. 

The other shoe hasn’t dropped. You’re not upset at the boys. You just feel…strange. Fluttery. It’s a feeling that you recognize, but you refuse to apply it to this situation. 

There are three of them, for fuck’s sake. Three of them, and they’re already dating each other. You have a decent friendship and a more-than-decent sexual arrangement with them, the uncalled verdict on tonight’s submissive experiment notwithstanding. You’re not about to ruin that by admitting that…

You…you like them. 

The thought clicks into place before you can stop it. This affair began as just pure, simple curiosity on your part, wonder at the idea that you could attract and affect and direct multiple partners at once, girlish delight at having such interesting pretty-boy partners, just for a night. 

You didn’t count on them sticking around.

But Chan stripped away a layer of your shell tonight, even though you’re starting to suspect that he could have been nicer to you as he did it. Changbin was there to clear the rubble with his gentle firm affection. And Jisung was there to be the softest of all, to oversee the aftercare and watch all three of you with a more objective eye. 

It would be easy to project your feelings, to say that maybe they feel something more toward you, if not for that final conversation that you weren’t meant to hear. You’re making them fight with each other, however tangentially. You’re causing problems just by being there. 

But you can’t deny it. You like them. All of them. 

You’re in big trouble, now.

\---------------

It’s not like you mean to do it, but you start avoiding any chance of being alone with the boys in the days following, and you just can’t stop. 

So now you’re avoiding them. It’s a thing. You’re not going to let yourself be alone with them again. 

You speak to them in class, but it’s just pleasantries and study questions. You practically run to the other side of the room to join another group of four for an in-class project, terrified that if you work with them like normal, you’ll have to meet up later to finish. You’re gone as soon as the class lets out, so they can’t invite you out, or worse, invite you in, to do anything. 

A few days of this stretch into a week, and a week stretches into two. Then three. The end of the semester looms ahead, your graduation (and Chan’s, for that matter) coming ever closer. Soon, it won’t matter. You’ll be done with school, and you can let the lingering friendship dwindle without any mess.

Above all, you definitely don’t hit them up for sex again. You wouldn’t be able to handle it if you ruined their relationship by complicating things with your little crushes. 

The first time you see them in the wild again, fittingly, is at another party. 

It’s one of the first parties that you attend with friends, rather than as a lone anonymous figure to get drunk and dance and call it a night when the sun comes up. Sana and Dahyun, two of the girls in your major department who you’ve known since you all started in the major together, had long since decided that the three of you should go out together at least once. Just to unwind. 

They corner you outside the senior seminar class that you all share, on Friday evening, with a fifth of vodka and the invitation to join them at one of the frat houses. It’s not your usual M.O., not by a long shot, but you accept.

You’re grateful for the distraction, and the company. You relish in the hour spent with them in Sana’s tiny studio apartment, planning cute outfits and doing each other’s makeup. 

The little ego boost of taking on the world with sweet, pretty friends lasts long enough to get you good and buzzed. You’re hand in hand with Dahyun, spinning madly to some electropop song, when you catch sight of a familiar head of curly, dark hair, skirting the edge of the makeshift dancefloor. You stumble in your party shoes, platforms that you borrowed from Sana, and Dahyun bumps into you, giggling. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I saw someone – a friend. Saw a friend,” you say quickly. 

“Go say hi!” Dahyun encourages. 

Even tipsy, you’re not quite sure that’s the right move. But your eyes are tracking the figure, as he cuts a path around the edge of the room.

“Say hi,” Dahyun repeats, “I’m gonna keep dancing.” 

She turns around and falls into Sana’s arms, instead, and you’re really left with no other choice, as they blend neatly back into the dancing masses. You turn around, and plunge into the milling crowd after Chan. 

“Chan!” you call, as you weave between drunk coeds and couples. 

He doesn’t seem to hear you. You bite your lip. There’s one other route to try, but it’s…

“Hey, peach!”

Chan freezes. He definitely heard you that time. He turns around, and you can’t help the stupid smile that spreads across your face. Even though you see him every Tuesday and Thursday like clockwork, you miss him. 

Chan’s eyes light up as he takes you in, your nice outfit, your made-up face, and you swear your heart constricts in your chest like someone’s squeezing it in their fist. 

“Hi,” he says, over the music, “Hey.” 

You can barely get the words out fast enough, “How – how are-”

“’Scuse me, I’m sorry. They’re waiting for me.” 

He gives you a soft, apologetic smile, and brushes past you with one hand on the small of your back. You’re left standing there, watching Chan’s back as he heads up the short set of stairs separating the ground floor from the second split level. 

You blink hard, trying to will the tears back into your eyes, desperate not to let any fall. He has no time to even say hello to you? Maybe you overestimated how much the three of them liked you. Or maybe you underestimated how much damage you were doing by avoiding their company.

But you weren’t doing it because you don’t like them. You did it because you like them too much. Isn’t that a good reason? It’s altruistic, isn’t it? To back off when you’re on the verge of disrupting a relationship? To be the bigger person? 

For an unconventional relationship that lasted only a few weeks, it sure fucking hurts to see it collapse around you. 

Maybe it’s not too late to admit how badly you’ve fucked up. 

You chase him. 

It doesn’t take long to catch up to him. The house has its two split floors and the upstairs bedrooms, and you find your target on the second level, over in the corner. He’s not alone, either. 

Jisung, and Changbin, and Chan. They’re arranged in a little semicircle, and in the center of it, back flat to the wall, is a boy. He’s blonde, and tall, and perfect, and you recognize him. His name is Hyunjin, a dance major. A beautiful face and a sweet personality to boot, from what little you know about him. 

They’re crowding him against the wall, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right, Changbin in front. 

It’s a scene that you know well. You know how surprised Hyunjin must be, how flattered. You’d wager that he’s wondering how he got so lucky. How he landed three people who look like that…who love like that…

You’ve seen enough. 

You find Sana and Dahyun, tell them you’re struggling with a horrible stomachache (which isn’t even a lie), and go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr, https://rebecca-noona.tumblr.com/


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